Letters from War
by OtakuKatie
Summary: Alfred F. Jones is being shipped out to war, away from a life without a family. Arhur Kirkland has joined a program to provide encouragement and support to those at war and is assigned to send messages to a soldier at war. USUK War Fic, Rating to go up.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Neither Hetalia or it's characters are mine. **

**Nor is the song 'Letters from War', that is property of Mark Schultz**

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><p>Alfred frowned and fiddled nervously with his collar once again. Even though the top two buttons of his standard-issue button-up shirt were undone, he still felt as though he were being choked.<p>

Giving up, he sighed and looked out the window of the bus, watching as the many dusty fields flew by. Around him, the atmosphere of the bus was quiet and strained. It was filled with young men, all dressed similarly in the tan military garb, all waiting anxiously to reach their destination: the US Military training camp in Kansas. There, they would enter basic training before being shipped off to Germany.

To war.

He hadn't really had a choice but to enlist, but even if he had had one, he would've. Alfred felt an obligation to his country, to protecting it. As soon as he had turned 18, he had signed up.

Besides, he didn't really have anything to stay for. His parents had died two years ago in a bombing raid whilst on vacation in England. After that, the rest of his family hadn't wanted anything to do with the boy, though he didn't know why.

Groaning loudly again, he turned his head and gave a wry smile to the boy sitting next to him. His best friend, Matthew, was looking straight forward, his eyes intense and worried.

"Hey, Matt, it's ok! This'll be fun! We can be like heroes!" Alfred encouraged uselessly, though he still wasn't convinced himself.

Matthew looked back at his friend, a sad smile on his lips.

"Yeah, I guess so Al… But I'm still worried. I don't know what will happen to my mom if I were to… you know…"

Alfred frowned slightly, he couldn't imagine how Matt felt. He had someone worth fighting for, and living for. But himself, he had nothing. No one to fight for.

He shrugged off the thought, plastering a fake grin on his face once again, though his blue eyes didn't reflect the sentiment.

"We'll be okay, Matt. We'll make it home!"

Matthew smiled back, grateful for his friend's fake optimism. He always had to be the hero.

After another hour of travelling down the bumpy, dirt road, the gray concrete buildings seemed to rise out of the farmland. Alfred and Matt drank in the sight of the low buildings with the distant forms of recruits running here and there across the empty fields.

The other men in the bus began to shift nervously, gathering their things and preparing to enter the training center, knowing that there was no going back once they entered. They would soon be at war.

Alfred and Matthew were the last off the bus, preferring to let the others exit first. The pair slung their dark-green bags over their arms and hopped quickly down the stairs and off the bus. In the pit of his stomach, Alfred felt an uncomfortable knot forming, the anxiety getting the better of him.

They gathered on the outskirts of the group that were waiting in a loose grouping as who appeared to be a high-ranking officer. He looked over the group of 18-year olds as if inspecting a large piece of meat, his gray eyes cold and poisonous.

"Gentlemen. I am Colonel Jorginson. Let me be the first to welcome you to two weeks of hell. This camp will break you. Here, you will be turned into soldiers. Soldiers who are prepared for war. After your two weeks here, you will be shipped out. Some of you will face the Krauts. Some of you will face the Japs. Both are deadly and will _kill _you if you give them the chance, do you hear me? You must follow all of your head officers here or you will die out there." The man said, eyes flickering from frightened face to frightened face.

"Now. You will be taken to the sign-up where you will check-in and receive your tags. Then, you will be assigned your bunks and then taken to the dining hall for dinner and opening speech from the director of camp. Tomorrow morning, you will begin your training."

The recruits were then taken to the main hall for sing-up. When Alfred finished, he put his dog-tags around his neck, fingering cold metal indented with his name: Alfred F. Jones, and recruit number. Beside him, Matthew just stood there, looking at his tags as if they were cursed.

Alfred nudged him and gave him another encouraging smile.

"C'mon Matt, they're just tags. It's all going to be ok, alright?" Alfred encouraged, looking at his friend intently with honest blue eyes.

Matthew smiled back reluctantly before looking down at his tags that read 'Matthew Williams' and pulling them over his head of dark blonde hair and the single hair that stuck up from it.

After putting their bags in the bunk room, the group made their way to the mess hall and quickly found seats after being served the barely recognizable grub from the camp kitchen. Then, the head of the camp gave the assembled recruits a speech similar to the one by Colonel Jorginson earlier. When the man finished, they finished their food (or the slop that was _called_ food), and returned to the bunkhouse.

Back at their bunks, the two boys got ready for bed quickly. From his bag, Matt pulled an old, tattered polar bear plush, much to Alfred's amusement.

"You _brought _that?" He asked incredulously.

Matthew blushed and buried his nose in the soft plush.

"You know I take it everywhere, Al…" he said softly, "I couldn't just leave it at home.."

"All right, Matt." Al said with a snort, "Just… don't let the other guys see it.."

Matt smiled at the other man before climbing gratefully into his bed.

The next day, the boys were rudely awoken by a familiar tune played on the overhead speakers by trumpet.

Groggily, they jumped out of bed and stood at attention at the foot of the bunks, awaiting inspection. However, Alfred, who was a very heavy sleeper, was immune to the loud trills of the instrument. Despite Matthew's attempts, the boy snoozed on.

As the officer walked in, Matt hopped down from the steps of the bunk and turned to stand in line with the others, deciding to leave Alfred to face his own consequences.

As Colonel Jorginson reached the bunk towards the end of the row, he stopped and looked up angrily at where Alfred's snoring roared loudly. Silently, he picked up a glass of water sitting by the bed and silently walked up the stairs leading to the top bunk. Then, suddenly, he splashed the entire glass directly onto Alfred's head.

Alfred spluttered and sat up quickly, searching around him for the sudden awakening.

Calmly, Jorginson hopped down and continued down the line. Alfred took the hint and got down quickly, putting on his glasses and joining Matthew in his place in line. On his way back, Colonel Jorginson stopped in front of him.

"Bathroom duty. Two weeks" was all he said before he turned on his heel and walked out the door.

"Bathroom duty? What the heck is that?" Alfred asked another man standing next to himself.

"Bathroom cleaning. All you're given is a toothbrush and a bucket of soapy water." The man explained with an apologetic look. "I had that when I first got here! Name's Steve, by the way." He said, holding out his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Steve. I'm Alfred, Alfred Jones," he said, introducing himself. "Say, what's that accent? I don't recognize it." He asked.

"Australian, mate. I just transferred here to the states." He explained, scratching his nose where there were two bandages, then holding out his hand to shake, which Alfred did amiably. "And you are?" he asked while holding his hand out to Matthew.

"I'm Matthew, nice to meet you!" Matt said, shaking his hand.

"So when are you getting shipped out, Steve?" Al asked, pushing his wet blonde hair out of his eyes.

"Two weeks, you?"

"Same, we must be on the same crew, then!" the boy replied with a smile, pleased to know he would at least be shipped out with someone he knew, other than Matt.

"Fantastic! Say, we better get a move on if we want to get some breakfast that's at least semi-edible." The Australian said with a laugh.

Laughing good-naturedly, the three walked out to the mess hall before heading out to their daily training.

Two weeks later, they were shipped out.

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><p><strong>AN: My first war fic! :D <strong>

**And it has Australia! I honestly didn't intend to have him in here, but I for some reason pictured that guy with an Australian accent, so it stuck! **

**No Arthur quite yet! But, he will probably show up in the next chapter! **

**This story was inspired by the song 'Letters from War' by Mark Schultz (though you won't really see why, yet XD) But, you should you go look up the song, it's really beautiful! **

**Thanks for reading and reviewing! :D**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Still not mine. Sadly.**

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><p>Arthur Kirkland sighed, looking down at the blank sheet of paper in front of him. A few days ago, he had a signed up for an organization whose goal was to help out soldiers while they were away at war and had no one to talk to or correspond with. The only problem was... he didn't know what to say.<p>

Frowning, Arthur stood up and walked the few steps across his flat from his desk to the window and frowned, pressing his forehead against the glass. In the distance, he could see the blue sky being covered with the dark gray smoke from the many fires of bombings below. Things weren't going well in Britain. Food and supplies were scarce, and the Germans were advancing. Soon, he would have to evacuate and move elsewhere to escape the oncoming bombing raids, probably moving farther inland where the Germans hadn't gotten to, yet.

After a few minutes with his forehead on the cool glass, Arthur decided to go out for a walk before writing the letter.

The man pulled on a scarf before strolling out the door. In the hallways, he nodded at his neighbors who smiled and waved at him, though their perpetually wrinkled brows and worried eyes denied the sentiment of good-natured neighbors. It was difficult to be truly friendly at times like this.

Stepping carefully over the sleeping bodies of homeless victims in the doorway of the building, Arthur made his way across the street to the neighborhood market. The shop windows were covered with boards and planks and propaganda posters, where they had once held beautiful clothes and pastries.

As he entered his favorite shop, Arthur frown deepened yet again. Germans. They were standing in the aisles, taking freely the food that was already scarce enough for the people to come by. Quietly, Arthur found an empty corner and waited, not wanting to cause a scene lest the German men found something to punish him for, as they tended to do with innocent people.

With angry green eyes, he watched as one of the German soldiers pushed roughly aside a woman with a baby in her arms aside, even though she wasn't in his way. The baby began to cry, and the men just yelled harshly at the woman in German. Sobbing, she ran out the door before Arthur had a chance to comfort her.

After a few minutes, the men left the store, their arms laden with supplies and food, as if they weren't provided with enough already.

Still frowning, Arthur walked over to the counter to talk to the man there.

"Nothing is ever enough for them, is it?" he asked the man ironically.

"Aye, they just don't ever stop." the man known as Mr. Grint behind the counter agreed, his brown eyes angry and hurt, but shrugged off his frown to give Arthur a small smile, "What can I help you with today, Arthur?"

Arthur just shrugged, glancing around at the shop again. There were things scattered across the floor now, so he quickly went over to help the worker girl who had just appeared from the back room pick up the items.

"Hello, Elizaveta." he said, smiling at the young girl.

"Evening, Mr. Kirkland." she replied stiffly, not one for chit-chat.

Arthur just chuckled sadly as he bent over once again and replaced a can of peas on the shelf. As soon as everything was back in its place, he walked around and picked up a few things he needed, along with a special treat: an orange.

"Oranges, eh?" he asked Mr. Grint, smiling "How'd you manage to get a hold of these?"

"I have my sources.." the man said with a wink, returning the smile.

Arthur hadn't seen an orange in two years: they were very hard to come by. It was a special treat to find one.

He quickly paid for his things and grabbed the paper bag before heading back out the door, waving goodbye to Mr. Grint and Elizaveta.

When he arrived back at his flat, he quietly peeled of his scarf and placed it on the hook by the door before going to the small kitchen and quickly putting away his groceries. Deciding on giving himself a treat, he carefully peeled that orange and treated himself to one section and carefully putting the rest in a small container for later.

Before returning to the table to continue his letter, he decided to procrastinate just a tad bit longer and walked over to the radio in the corner and turning on the news. He frowned as he listened to the list of recently deceased British and American soldiers, which seemed to be increasing daily.

Finally returning to the table, Arthur started the letter with his best script. He had read the assignment from the organization many times, so he didn't even need to look at it before carefully writing the man's name at the head of the paper.

"_To Alfred F. Jones," _

Here he paused, unsure of where to continue. He held the pen up to his lips and tapped a few times before deciding how to continue, deciding to just begin simply.

"_I am a member of an organization designed to provide support to Allie soldiers fighting for the cause. Please feel free to tell me anything, I will keep all of your secrets. Just write to me, and I promise I will write back. It is my responsibility to make sure you know that there is someone here that is supporting you as you protect our countries. _

_Here's a little bit about myself: My name is Arthur Kirkland, I am twenty-three years old and live in England. My hobbies are reading English literature and writing. I intend to write a novel, someday. How about you? What do you enjoy? _

_God bless you and your fellow men, and may you return home safely. _

_Signed, Arthur Kirkland."_

Arthur glanced over the letter again, noting it to be a little formal. He shrugged, and folded the letter before putting it into the envelope. It was his first time writing to whoever this Alfred person, anyway. He didn't know anything about the man other than where he was stationed and his name. He quickly addressed the letter and sealed it, placing a stamp in the corner.

Deciding he might as well mail the letter that day, as post was closed the next day, he once again put on his scarf and left, after turning off the radio.

In the hallway, he came across his neighbor, Seamus, a man from Ireland who had come to Britain in the hopes of doing something to help in the war effort, though all of his grand plans had been unsuccessful.

"Afternoon, Seamus. How're things for you?"

"Oh, same ol' same ol', mate. Nothin' much else happening now that the bloody Germans is takin' over." he said angrily, though with a grin on his face. The Irishman was perpetually optimistic.

Arthur returned the grin half-heartedly, he was somewhat of a pessimist himself.

"Well watcha' up to, Arthur? Ya look like ya off ta do somethin'!" Seamus continued.

"Oh, yes well I was just off to the post to send this here letter..." he replied, holding the letter up absentmindedly.

Seamus chuckled lightly.

"Well then ya' best be off, post closes in 'bout fifteen minutes!"

"Fifteen... bloody hell!" Arthur managed to say before dashing off down the hallway, much to Seamus' enjoyment.

The man chuckled slightly and shook his head of red hair, watching the small Brit run off frantically.

"Strange lad, he is." he muttered to himself before retreating to his flat.

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><p>Ten minutes later, Arthur arrived at the post office, red faced and panting with a mere five minutes to spare.<p>

"I'd... like... to... mail this... letter!" he managed to gasp out between gulps of air.

The clerk looked strangely at him before accepting the letter. Arthur sighed in relief, though he wasn't sure why. It wouldn't have been a big problem to send the letter two days later, but he had felt the necessity to send it out as soon as possible, believing this Alfred F. Jones was in need of some encouragement, and it couldn't even wait a day or two.

"Odd." he murmured, before turning and walking back home.

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><p><strong>AN: Yay! Arthur! Wow did I finish this chapter quickly... it came so naturally, as I was really eager to keep going! *3*<strong>

**I plan on doing this as a back and forth, one chapter Arthur the next Alfred and so on and so forth, though at a few parts it will be a few chapters of just one of them, you'll see why ;)**

**Thanks for reading and reviewing! **


	3. Chapter 3

**I STILL DO NOT OWN. **

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><p>Alfred frowned and looked out towards the distant, smoldering fields of the German outskirts. Around him, his fellow soldiers shouted excitedly as they received letters from their loved ones, part of the daily routine of the mail-call.<p>

He had no one he cared for back home, and no one that cared for him. He never received letters or care-packages, no one cared. Beside him, Matthew held back yet another sob, his eyes scanning the paper he held in his hands, the torn-open envelope beside him betrayed the sender to be his mother. On his other side, Steve sat reading a letter from his girlfriend, a goofy grin on his face as he looked over some pictures she had sent him.

He turned away, then. Not wanting his bad mood to show. It was hard out there without someone to write to. For most things, he could confide in Matt. But for others, he didn't want to trouble the boy. Matthew was only a few days younger than himself, but he was also far more fragile from the privileged life he had lived from the day he was born. Alfred still wasn't sure how his would fare in any real battle because of this. He wouldn't have joined up but for the fact that his father would've been very angry at him for betraying both of his countries, America where he had lived most of his life, and his homeland of Canada.

Alfred, however, had dealt with far more hardships in his life. His family was far from wealthy when he had them, and that made life difficult for the Jones'. But, when his parents died, things only got worse. He had ended up living with Matt and his family for about a month until he was able to find somewhere for himself to live. They had been kind and welcoming, but sometimes their perfect family image was difficult to live with. Eventually, he had saved up enough from some odd jobs to afford a stable apartment while working as a milkman for the local dairy.

"Jones, Alfred" the mail carrier called while looking up slightly.

The blonde hardly even noticed when his own name was called, deep in his thoughts. Luckily, Matt noticed and poked him harshly in the side before gesturing for Alfred to go get up and claim the letter. Scrambling to his feet, Al nearly ran to the front of the room clumsily. He barely managed to make it to the mail carrier, but only after nearly tripping at least five times on the 'accidentally' stretched out feet of the other recruits lounging lazily around the large room.

"I'm Alfred Jones!" he said with a slightly confused smile. Who would be writing to him?

"Here you are." the man said, handing him the standard white envelope for war-time mailing.

Alfred walked slowly back to his spot next to his friends, barely avoiding running into things a few times as he was staring at the envelope.

It was addressed from a Mr. Arthur Kirkland. Did he know an Arthur Kirkland? No, he didn't. He was sure of it. He did not know an Arthur Kirkland.

Matthew and Steve looked up from their own letters, expressions curious.

"What's that, Al?" Matt wondered.

"Oh, I don't know. I think it's a misspelling or something. I don't know the sender" he said, holding the letter up and waving it around, slightly flippantly.

Matt held out his hand, demanding a look at the letter which Al handed over willingly before flopping back down to his seat and staring out the window.

"'Arthur Kirkland'?" Matt said confusedly, not knowing of the name, either. He handed it over to Steve, who also took a look at it.

"Hmm." he pondered, "Return address is from Britain, you know of anyone there?"

Alfred stiffened slightly, passing it off as a shrug.

"No, I don't."

"Well you should probably open it, Al." Matt said, "It doesn't _look _like a misprint, everything's correct..."

"I don't want to accidentally read someone else's mail, it's rude." he argued, "Besides, I don't know anyone by that name, so it can't possibly be for me." decidedly closing the topic of discussion.

Matthew and Steve exchanged a knowing glance and a shrug behind Al's back, as he had turned to stare dejectedly out the window, again.

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><p>Alfred hated being in a bad mood. He truly did. That's why he always tried to put a fake grin on his face and keep going until he was happy again. But, now, he couldn't get out of this bad mood.<p>

If someone had asked him to explain exactly what was wrong, he probably couldn't. He supposed it was just a mix of a lot of things culminating on this angry feeling.

Something about the fact that he had gotten his hopes up for that stupid letter. Something about the way his heart had dropped when he realized that it wasn't for him. Something about how he had _really _hoped that it was one of those distant family members reaching a hand out to him.

But no, it was just a misprint. Just someone putting down a wrong number or name. Now, someone out there was missing a letter, and he felt terrible that he had gotten it instead of them, because it just made him feel horrible on many accounts.

He turned away from the window and rolled over once again in his uncomfortable sleeping bag laid out on the hard ground. Beneath his makeshift pillow (his bomber jacket), he could feel the edges of the letter that he had hid under there until the time where he could put it in the mailbag with a 'return to sender' stamp. The sooner it was out of his hands, the better. He didn't want to deal with the fact that no one was going to send him something or even care if he got back home any longer then he had to.

Deciding he wasn't going to be getting any sleep, he sat up and pulled the letter from under the pillow. Well... he was going to resend it anyway... if he was going to put it in a new envelope to return to the sender, he could read it without anyone to be the wiser.

Hesitantly tearing open the letter as he did so, Al walked over to the lamp on the other side of the large tent. Turning it on low, he knelt down beside it to read what was written before him.

"_Dear Alfred F. Jones,"_

That was his correct name, maybe it _was _meant for him. He shrugged and continued on.

"_I am a member of an organization designed to provide support to Allie soldiers fighting for the cause."_

Interesting. So it wasn't meant to be for anyone this Arthur person knew, it was just for someone who needed support... So, it was for him!

Alfred grinned broadly, glad that he had opened the letter before sending it back. As he read on, he learned that this Arthur was willing to write back and forth with Al and be there to provide support. That was... amazing. He was going to have someone that would care about him while he was gone and maybe even care if he never got back.

Deciding he couldn't reply before morning, Alfred read the letter over about five more times before heading back to his sleeping bag and getting some shut eye, all the while with a large smile on his face.

The next morning, he wrote a reply to the man and sent it as soon as he could, hoping that the letter got to Arthur Kirkland soon, because that would mean he would get a reply soon.

For the rest of the day, even as he exchanged fire with German soldiers, he wasn't in a bad mood.

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><p><strong>AN: Alfred got the letter! :D Yay for Al's happiness! <strong>

**If any of you think Al is a little OOC, I'm sorry. I guess in my head canon he's a little more serious at times, just thought I should mention that ;)**

**Anyway! Thanks to all of you who reviewed, it made me feel REALLY happy! **

**Thanks again for reading and reviewing! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**It's not mine! *sob***

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><p>The sun had finally decided to shine over the British city for the first time in weeks as Arthur made his way downstairs to check his tiny mailbox in the lobby of his apartment. His mood was bright to match the sky outside, he hadn't remembered how long it had been since he had last seen a clear, bright day, and it brightened his day considerably.<p>

As he walked down the few flights of stairs, he hummed a small melody and smiled to himself. Arthur waved brightly to the few neighbors he passed, and they returned the gesture kindly. He was having such a nice day, he nearly skipped through the halls.

Passing by Seamus, he stopped for a moment to chat.

"Morning, Seamus! How are you on this fantastic day?" he asked cheerfully.

"Ay, I'm a fine sight boy, the weather is nice and warm and the sky beautiful blue! How can a lad not be great on a day like today?"

"Indeed, it is truly a wonderful day. Say, how is your wife doing?" the Brit asked, remembering his red-haired friend's kind, blonde wife named Kate that he hadn't seen in a few weeks.

Suddenly, the Irishman frowned.

"Not too good, lad. She be dealin' with a bout of ill health, now. But, the doctor says she's gonna be just fine in a week or two!" he said with another bright smile that didn't quite reach his pale green eyes.

Arthur frowned as well, disturbed by his friend's troubles for a moment, a frown that finally broke up his good mood.

"I'm very sorry to hear that, mate. I do hope she'll recover soon. Just give me a ring if you need anything for me to do, alright?" he promised with a small, reassuring grin.

"Aye, you be a great lad, Arthur." the man said sadly and clapped the short Brit on the shoulder.

With that, the two went on with their business, Arthur heading for the mailbox and Seamus to the local pharmacy to pick up some medicine for Kate.

Deciding to push all of those sad thoughts out of his mind for the time being, Arthur put a smile on his face once again and continued on with a spring in his step to the small mailboxes located by the door. Why was he so Jolly?

The Brit simply shrugged as he realized he had no idea why he was so happy, it was just a nice day. Plus, he had a feeling that something good was going to happen. Something very good.

Still humming he stuck the key into the box and opened it, smiling to himself for no reason, and pulling out the assorted envelopes and papers. Letter from his mother… Letter from his French friend… Advertisement… Bill… Letter from… Alfred Jones?

Arthur's jaw dropped in shock for a moment. Of course, he should have expected it, he had sent the letter a month ago, and it normally would take two weeks to get it there, and two weeks to get it back, from what he'd heard. Frowning worriedly, he quickly opened the letter while walking back up to his flat. A weird feeling was in the pit of his stomach, like a twisted knot. As he finally freed the letter from its envelope, his eyes scanned the paper quickly, taking in the slightly sloppy handwriting and wrinkled paper.

"_Dear Arthur, _

_Thank you for writing to me, it means the world. Currently, we're stationed in the outskirts of Germany, preparing to advance farther into the countryside. It's tense and difficult here, now, and I appreciate someone who can take some of that strain from me. _

_As you know, my name is Alfred F. Jones (the 'F' is for Franklin), and I am from the US. Currently, I am eighteen years old and am originally from the state of New York. Someday, I plan on working with the US space program that they're just beginning to establish now. It'd be fantastic to work with the stars, if this war ever ends. In my free time, I enjoy drawing, though I don't think myself too good. _

_How is life in Britain? Are you faring well with supplies and everything? How's the weather? Here, it's been snowing a lot. I suppose that's normal for German weather, but it is kind of late in the season for constant blizzards, isn't it?_

_I'll be eagerly awaiting a reply,_

_Alfred F. Jones_

Arthur frowned. Eighteen years old? That seemed a little young to be in the military. But, he supposed, they needed as many able-bodied men as they could get, no matter how young they were. He was very interested in the goals of Alfred, though. It was a very interesting career field he was interested in. A field that not many knew about.

Smiling, he sat down once again to write a reply to the man, hoping to get it out as soon as possible. For some reason, he found it much easier to write this letter, he supposed it had something to do with the fact that he knew a little more about this Alfred person, and that he knew Alfred was waiting for the letter and would appreciate it when it came.

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><p>After Arthur had finished writing the letter, he had turned to look at his other mail still sitting in a pile on the other side of the desk. Setting aside one of the letters, he quickly wrote a reply to his mum that, yes, he was doing well and, no, he hadn't yet been evacuated. Looking at the bill, he frowned deeply. Prices had gone up, once again, for electricity. How long would he be able to afford those prices with his low- wage job at the newspaper company? But, he just sighed and set that, too, aside.<p>

Once he was finished with the other letters, he hesitantly he picked up the one from his French friend, not knowing what to expect this time and what was written inside the envelope. He ripped open the envelope somewhat carelessly and quickly read over the urgent message with a troubled scowl on his face and his large eyebrows knitted.

The man whom was writing, Francis, was a member of the Free French, a group trying to overthrow the German rule of their country. However, things weren't going well, and Francis had become a marked man and was one of the most wanted criminals of the country at the time, though he rarely did anything highly illegal, his people were wanted greatly for their continued struggle to gain independence. More than once, Arthur had made special travels to France to assist his friend there, and their relations had become complex over the years.

However, Francis had fled the country. In the letter, he described how he was on the way to Arthur's flat to lay low for a while. This wouldn't have been too much of a problem for Arthur, despite the fact that his emotions were still frayed from the last time he had seen the man over a year ago. Arthur pushed out those thoughts angrily and finished reading the letter. In it, Francis had said that, if things went as planned, he would be there on March 18th. Checking the calendar, Arthur realized with a start that that very day was March 18th.

As if on cue, there were a few short raps on the door. Three staccato knocks and then one firm knock. Their old secret knock code. Sighing, he shoved the letters into an old shoebox which he then hid behind his bookshelf, more specifically because of the one written for Alfred; as he didn't want the Frenchman getting involved in that, not after their dealings had become so strenuous and tension-filled. Then, Arthur stood and went over to answer the door.

For a moment, he stood and collected himself, trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart and calm his breathing. Though, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep a worried blush and rapid-beating heart calmed.

After one last deep breath, he opened the door.

"Arthur." the blonde Frenchman purred, as the Brit opened the door.

The shorter man barely had a chance to breathe before, in one movement, Francis stepped over the threshold, took Arthur into his arms, and claimed his lips in his own with a hungry look in his blue eyes.

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><p><strong>AN: Whaaaa~? Francis? WHAT IS THIS? D:<strong>

**Usually, I avoid FrUk, (I am 100% USUK!) but I needed to add something exciting! It just… happened! Anyway, It would've been boring if it was just letters back and forth! Besides, the pairing can be darn sexy ;)**

**Thanks for all of the reviews and alerts and favorites from the last chapter, it made me feel special :3 **

**Thanks for reading and reviewing! **


	5. Chapter 5

**Not mine. Happy now? **

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><p>Alfred paced nervously across the nearly-empty tent, his brow furrowed and blue eyes troubled.<p>

"Honestly, Al, you need to stop that. It's not helping anything." Matt chided from his spot on the floor in the corner of the room, his polar bear in his arms. "You've been pacing for two hours, it's not helping anything."

Those troubled blue eyes shifted over to his best friend, and something the small Canadian had said must have made sense to the boy as his shoulders suddenly slumped and his expression turned from angry to sad.

"Yeah, I guess you're right, Matt. It's just… I feel like this is all my fault, like I could have prevented this from happening." He sighed, "It _is _my fault."

From the other side of the room came Steve's exasperated snort. He was lying on his back, holding a _Playboy _above him, seemingly uninterested in the conversation, when he had, in fact, been listening the whole time.

"No, Al, it's not." The Australian interjected, sitting up to better face his friend and partner, "It's _no one's fault_, Christopher just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, go it?"

The blonde American stared back into the brown eyes of the other man, trying to get the man's truth through his troubled mind.

Sighing once again, Alfred shrugged noncommittally, maybe it was no one's fault, but it sure felt a lot like his.

They had been just about to seize Bugle's Ridge, a German held stronghold that was a stepping stone into entering the heart of Germany – Berlin. When, suddenly, there was a massive aerial attack. It seemed as if the entirety of the _Luftwaffe _was right there on them. And then, from the opposite direction of the armed men they were already facing down, another German regiment came upon them, too. It was in this chaos that a member of the 63rd Infantry Division (Alfred, Matt, and Steve's division) was taken. The first of their small infantry.

Alfred had become especially close to Christopher over the past few weeks. They had bonded over their favorite foods and home state. The day that he was captured, Alfred had been fighting right next to him in the dug-out. Now, Alfred felt a heart-wrenching guilt, because he could have prevented it if he had seen them coming. As it was, he was lucky that he managed to get out. Maybe it was a case of 'survivor's guilt', as they call it, but it was all he could do to stop himself from picturing Chris tied up in a German POW Camp. It made him sick to his stomach.

He was soon pulled out of his thoughts, though, when he heard the bell for mess hall and the mail call chimed through the base camp. Together, he and his friends made their way with the large crowd of men to the even more crowded room and received their rations. Finding a spot in the corner, again, Alfred and his two friends sat silently eating, each reflecting on their experiences of the day.

This time, though, Alfred heard his name called. He heard it loud and clear. For the past week, he had been eagerly awaiting a reply from Arthur. It should have only taken a month, but it somehow it had taken a week more than it was supposed to. Because of this, Alfred had become slightly paranoid at the thought that Arthur didn't want to talk to him, anymore, or that the letter had become lost in the mail, or that he had said something wrong in his previous letter.

But now, the letter was here. Forgetting all thoughts of his captured friend for a moment, Alfred happily walked up and took the letter, barely refraining from skipping up there with a huge grin on his face.

Back at their seats, Matt and Steve exchanged small smiles, glad that there was something for Alfred to be pleased about. His friends had noticed, more and more, that it was difficult to make Al happy again. His usual reserve of bubbly energy was gone, most of the time.

At least for now, though, it was back. As he took his seat, again, Al hurriedly opened it up, carelessly tossing the envelope aside, eyes devouring what was written there.

"_Dear Alfred," _

For some reason, Al felt his heart leap at the familiar, neat penmanship. Ignoring the feeling, he continued reading.

"_I was glad to see that you responded, how are you? It is nice to hear that my letters can bring some kind of encouragement and happiness to you while you are out fighting. I just want you to know that you cam confide in me with anything._

_That's an interesting career path you plan on following, what do you wish to accomplish there? I would be interested to know more about those goals. The stars always fascinated me when I was young; I imagined people lived on them. _

_Life here is difficult, now, but bearable. Currently, the Germans are advancing farther and farther and I fear evacuation may be in the near future, but I have a stable place where I may go if need be. Supplies are scarce, at times, but we make it through. Lately, the weather has been rainy and cold, but today the sun decided to shine. It was like a ray of hope on the cloudy days. _

_Tell me about your friends, I want to learn more about you. And I've always thought that a person's friends tell a lot about themselves. _

_Keep safe, Alfred. _

_Signed, _

_Arthur Kirkland. _

Alfred's grin widened as he read the letter. Arthur seemed genuinely concerned for him, that felt… good. It felt very good.

As he sat down to write a reply, he felt all of his problems pouring out of his pen and onto the paper, describing his problems and fears. Normally, he wouldn't confide in someone he didn't know for very long with such a lot of his issues, but he felt as if Arthur could help him, and that he would care.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Alfred slipped the letter into the mailbag before joining Steve and Matthew at their usual table in the corner. His mood had improved greatly since the last day, and he found that he had a much better outlook on the whole situation with Christopher.<p>

His friends, too, seemed glad at Alfred's change in attitude. Lately, it seemed, he had been temperamental and angry at life. It was a relief to them to see their friend's spirits lifted.

As the trio sat and joked over their morning meal, a highly-decorated man in official's uniform came up behind Alfred from where he sat facing his friends. Steve and Matt, of course, saw him coming and stopped mid-sentence and turned their wide eyes to the man. Following their glance, Al turned to face the man.

"Um... Do you need something, sir?" the blonde asked hesitantly, his eyes searching the man's empty expression for a hint of emotion.

"You're Jones, right?" he asked, the continued after Al's nod, "You are needed at base headquarters. Follow me."

Then, he turned on his heel without waiting to see if the boy even followed.

With a quick, apologetic glance at his friends, Alfred stood and walked in quick pursuit.

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><p><strong>AN: I'm getting kinda bad at leaving you guys on cliffhangers, huh? ;) Haha, oh well! It keeps things interesting! :P<strong>

**I think there are a few things I need to explain here; this chapter had some war terminology that you need to know a bit more on! (Note: Feel free to skip some of this, it's just my historical ramblings that I found interesting but may bore you! ((I really love history ^^;))**

**Firstly, the term '**_**Luftwaffe**_**' means the German air force. **

**Secondly, the 63rd Infantry Division was an actual group from World War II that started in Florida and moved to Mississippi, but it's now based from Arizona, Texas, California, Oklahoma, Nevada, Arkansas, and New Mexico (I'm actually from one of these states; any guesses which? :P). So, it technically wouldn't be what Alfred and his friends would be in, as they were originally from New York and trained in Kansas, but often times they did have people switch divisions if necessary, so that's what happened in their case! Some cool information is that it was 'activated', or originally started in 1942. It first shipped out to the Rhineland (a heavily disputed area between Germany and France that was later given to Germany in attempts to appease Hitler) on November 25th 1943 (which just so happens to be my birthday, though 52 years previous! XD) It was then activated and deactivated about five times until it was activated as an office support command from 2008 and is still in activation today. (Information found on Wikipedia)**

**Lastly, the term '**_**highly-decorated**_**' means a man that has achieved a lot of medals and honors from his service, just so you know! **

**Sorry this AN was rather rambly, I just found these things interesting :P **

**Thanks so much for all of your reviews and alerts/favorites! I see all of them and make me smile soo much! Thanks again for reading! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hetalia is not mine. **

**And let me apologize in advance for the FrUK, there's a lot of it! TT~TT**

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><p>In the wee hours of the morning, Arthur quietly slid open his balcony door and slipped out, shivering as the cold air hit his nearly-naked body. In just his boxers, Arthur lit the cigarette in his hand and took a few grateful drags before leaning pensively on the railing surrounding the small space. He turned slightly as he heard the man laying in his bed let out a quiet snore, but relaxed again as Francis fell again into peaceful slumber.<p>

Usually, he didn't smoke, but the stress of once again having the Frenchman with him caused him to pick up the habit again just a week into his 'visit'.

As he looked over the sleeping city, he pondered their complex relationship.

They had first met when Arthur was twenty and Francis just a year older. Arthur had been on a trip to France and had stepped into a small bar on the outskirts of town. There, he had whom he considered a captivating man with piercing blue eyes and long, perfect hair. That night, they had sat and talked for hours, the pair nursing drink after drink until, fairly buzzed, they had arrived back at Francis' house. There, they did some things that Arthur preferred not think about.

After that night, the two formed a strange, purely physical 'romance'. At one point, Arthur even deluded himself into believing Francis may have had feeling for him. That is, until he found the man in bed with some girl.

Arthur had stormed out that day and swore never to talk to Francis again. He had moved back to England and ignored every single letter. Until, six months later, Francis had arrived on his doorstep, flowers in hand.

Against his better judgment, Arthur took him back. However, nothing changed. Arthur would still found lipstick on the man's collar, but for months he said nothing.

But, one day, he snapped. It was just something stupid - Francis' long hair in the shower drain - but he simply erupted into a sobbing, screaming mass and kicked a startled Francis out on the street.

After that, they didn't see each other for year, that is, until Francis arrived just a month ago.

Arthur was shaken out of his thoughts by a pair of lithe arms snaking around his waist.

"Come back to bed, _mon amant_." his lover and enemy whispered huskily as he nibbled lightly on the smaller man's ear.

Arthur eased slightly into the touch and turned to capture Francis' lips in his own, tongues fighting for dominance as he pushed his lover back to bed.

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><p>Francis turned over in bed, eyes closed in an attempt to block out the morning sunlight streaming through the window. Groggily, he reached out a blind arm and found an empty space in the spot next to himself. He sighed as he sat up, running a hand through his still-perfect hair. From the kitchen, he could hear Arthur moving around and preparing his morning cup of tea. Frowning, he realized that, no matter what he did, he could never truly win back his lover's trust, or his heart.<p>

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><p>Arthur looked down blankly at the letter before him, unsure of how to respond. The letter was from Alfred. In it, he described his overwhelming guilt at the loss of his friend, who was now imprisoned in a German POW Camp.<p>

"_...I just feel guilty, like it's all my fault._

_I shouldn't have let them take him..._

_...They don't know if we can get him back..."_

These kinds of these continued for the whole letter, but Arthur had no idea what to say in response. He had asked Alfred to confide in him, but he had no idea of how to help. Eventually, he decided to just write from his heart.

"What is this, _mon amant_?" the familiar voice asked from over his shoulder, while his arm reached down to take the letter Arthur had been writing and ignoring the smaller blonde's protests.

"'Alfred F. Jones'?" Francis quoted suspiciously, his eyebrows furrowed. "Who is this man, Arthur?"

"I-It's nothing…" he stuttered, "Just some man I've been writing. He's serving in Germany, now…"

Francis nodded, though his eyes still held suspicion. Silently, he read the letter, his face blank. When he finished, he set down the letter slowly, turned, and walked away.

Arthur watched him go, his mouth set into a hard line. Was the cheating Frenchman… jealous? Slowly, a small smirk crawled across his face.

_That hypocrite _he scoffed internally _he cheats on me all the time, and now he gets jealous when I simply talk to another man? _

He shrugged as he finished writing the letter, then licked and sealed it.

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><p>When Arthur was nearly to the lobby on his way down to send the letter, he encountered Seamus in the hallway. The Irishman was pale and seemed to be shaking, upon close inspection, Arthur noticed his eyes were red and swollen and he was sniffling.<p>

"Seamus… what's wrong?" the younger man asked worriedly, laying a hand on the redhead's shoulder.

"Oh Arthur! It's me wife! She… she's gone!" he managed to stutter out before breaking down into tears and sobbing, laying his head on Arthur's shoulder desperately, "It was the sickness, it got the better of her!"

Unsure of what to say, Arthur patted the man's shoulder awkwardly, not knowing how to comfort the man who's wife had been battling influenza for months.

"When… when did she pass?"

"About… About an…. 'our ago…" he answered between sobs, "I…. I need to… call the… Doctor… bu' I can't bring myself to do it…".

Together, the pair stood for a few moments, Seamus sobbing into his friend's shoulder in overwhelming grief and Arthur trying awkwardly trying to provide comfort.

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><p><strong>Translation: <strong>_**mon amant- my lover**_

**AN: Sorry this one took a while, but so much happened! Poor Arthur has a lot of drama, huh? Sorry again for the FrUK, I know a lot of you hate it, and, to be honest, I really do, too! BUT, USUK will be coming at some point soon! :3**

**And poor Seamus D: Ireland is close to my heart (family came from Ireland a long time ago, but I feel it's my kin land! XD), so it's hard to put him through this! :( **

**Anyway, new chapter maybe tomorrow, I finally got my own laptop, so I will probably be writing more stuff! :D**

**Thanks a bunch for reading and reviewing! This story has been getting so much great feedback, it makes me feel good! :3  
><strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**Still not mine… :I**

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><p>In the distance, Alfred watched as the enemy tanks lumbered slowly across the barren German outskirts as early snow fell. Across the empty expanse, barbed wire and bombed-out craters spotted the now-desert landscape. Around him, there were the familiar sounds of machine gun fire as his fellow men attempted to push farther into the countryside.<p>

It had been two months since Christopher had been taken hostage, and with each passing day, Alfred's worry grew more and more. He had learned some time ago that, the longer they were in, the less of a chance they would survive.

As he sat, waiting for his chance to advance farther in, he thought back to the day he had been called into the office…

'_You're Jones, right?' _the man had asked_, 'You are needed at base headquarters. Follow me.'_

Alfred had quickly followed, knowing that he wouldn't have been called in unless it was something important. Back straight, he walked behind the messenger as he led the blonde through the small base camp until they reached the large Generals' tent.

'_General Braginski? Jones is here.' _ The man announced quietly, saluting the high-ranking officer before him.

'_At ease, private.' _He answered with a slight salute of respect, _'You can get back to the mess hall now, da?' _Clearly this general was a Russian officer.

When the other man had left, Braginski had turned to Alfred expectantly, so he immediately straightened his back to ram-rod straight and clicked his boot-clad heels together all while saluting the man before him.

Carefully, the man inspected him with violet eyes, searching the private from head to toe and giving Alfred the feeling he was under an x-ray.

The blue-eyed man, too, inspected the Russian before him, taking in the pale skin and heavy build with nearly-white hair sticking unkemptly under his hat. Around his neck, he wore a pink scarf and no tie, clearly out of uniform. However, Alfred could tell that no one would dare tell that to the intimidating man.

'_At ease, Jones.' _Braginski said after a moment of inspection, _'I bet you wonder why you are here?'_

Alfred quickly moved into the required position of being told to stand at ease by an officer, moving his left leg slightly so his feet were shoulder-width apart and clasping his hands behind his back.

'_Yes, sir.'_ He responded respectfully.

The hulking man responded with a slight smirk while moving to the liquor cabinet near the cluttered desk, pouring himself a shot-glass of vodka before sitting down behind said desk and turning to Alfred again.

'_Da…' _he trailed off while taking a sip of his drink, relishing in the feeling of power as he made the American before him wait for his words, _'It has come to our attention that a friend of yours, a man by the name of Christopher James, has been taken hostage. Is this correct?' _

'_Yes sir, General.'_ He responded evenly, trying desperately to quell the guilt he felt in the pit of his stomach.

'_And you wish to get him back safely, no?' _the man asked with an arch of a silver eyebrow.

'_Yes sir.'_

'_Well then, you need to go and get him.'_

For a moment, Alfred stood with a confused look on his face, unsure of what Braginski was implying.

'…_Sir?' _was all he could think to reply with.

'_You heard me, Jones. We need someone to get in there and rescue him, along with several others. We've been watching you specifically during your training and out in the field, and you're the only one with the guts and skills to pull off a mission like this.'_

'_I'm honored, sir, but….' _He trailed off, what 'buts' were there?

'_Yes, Jones?'_

'_Nothing, sir, I am prepared to accept the mission.' _

'_Da, I knew you would. Now, this mission won't just happen today. We need you to train and learn more about the facility our men are being held in before you go rushing in. Got it?' _

'_Yes, sir.' _

With that, he had been dismissed by the hulking Russian to return to camp. He had been told to tell no one of the mission he would partake in, and had begun the special training the next day.

Now, it was a month later. His special training was almost complete, and he knew it was only a matter of days before he would enter the POW camp he now observed a mere mile away from where he sat. They weren't positive, but it was fairly certain that that is where Christopher was being held.

He was so focused on his thoughts for the dangerous mission ahead, he didn't even noticed Matthew quietly join him and lay a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Al, you've got a letter."

It was this that finally shook him of his thoughts, and he quickly put on a false smile so as not to worry his old friend. He hated lying to Matt and even Steve about the special training, but he had been told not to tell anyone, so he had just lied and said it was some sort of extra-training for those who may be soon moving up in ranks. They had smiled and congratulated him, but often still sent questioning glances his way every time he would appear to zone out in thought. It was times like those that he was thinking of the possibility that he wouldn't get out alive.

"Oh, cool, thanks Matt!" he said, accepting the letter without even looking at it, still caught up in thought.

"Alfred, it's from Arthur." Matt said gently.

It was this that finally pulled Al completely out of his thoughts, and he looked down at the letter hopefully, ripping it open quickly and reading the letter inside.

* * *

><p>Matt frowned as he watched Al read the letter beside him. The man was completely absorbed in the letter, seemingly forgetting all about the friend beside him. As Matthew watched, tears began to fall from Alfred's eyes, silently and steadily. His frown deepened, worried for his friend, who was more like his brother.<p>

He hadn't been fooled by his lies. He had always known that it wasn't just training for those who would possibly move up in ranks, he knew that didn't happen. But, Matt and Steve had both just smiled and congratulated Al, knowing that they shouldn't pry if he didn't (or couldn't) tell them what was really going on.

However, he was really worried. He had no idea what was really going on, and it worried him to see Al perpetually worried.

With a sigh, he stood up and left his friend to read his letter, still sobbing quietly as wet drops fell onto the paper before him.

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><p>Al wasn't really sure why he was crying, but his emotions just seemed to open like a floodgate as he read the Brit's letter.<p>

Maybe it was the way Arthur seemed to truly believe in him. It made him feel… special.

But, it was more than that. So many emotions had been plaguing him, that this feeling of happiness sent him over the edge into a crying, shaking wreck.

For a few moments, he simply sat and cried, before picking up a pen and a blank piece of paper and a pen.

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><p><strong>AN: Aww! Poor Al! D: He's all sad and angsty! But, isn't that brave of him to volunteer and do that? :D<strong>

'**General Braginski'? YEAH! It's RUSSIA! Hahaha I loved writing him like that, kinda treating Alfred like scum just because he's higher ranking… :'D**

**Oh, and I've decided that I'm going to try and do a new chapter every other day, I get a little stressed doing every day, but since I have so much free time for writing, every other day is easy enough! :)**

**And I would like to say thanks sooo much for all the reviews and alerts and faves, you people are amazing! All of them make me feel so happy! I read every single review from you guys, sorry that I don't usually have any time to reply D: (I have enough free time to write, but not much else :/)**

**Thanks for reading and reviewing! :D**


	8. Chapter 8

**Nope. It's not. **

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><p>Arthur never liked churches. They reminded him of stuffy weddings and cold, tired Christmas mornings. The hard pews were always uncomfortable and made his back hurt. Today was no different. The atmosphere in the small sanctuary was quiet and strained. In the background, the pipe organ continued on its somber melody as the seats quietly filled with well-wishers clad in black.<p>

He was seated in the front row, Seamus on his left and Francis to his right. Seamus kept blotting his eyes and blowing loudly into his old handkerchief, trying desperately to avoid looking at the simple mahogany coffin at the front of the room.

Francis, however, was unaffected. If anything, he was still angry about the letter from a week ago. After he had stormed off, he had locked himself in the bedroom for an hour. Even after he had come out, he had been stony and angry since.

Arthur pushed thoughts of the once-again failing relationship. He glanced around the small church, taking in the simple flowers and small crowd. Everything was simple a small. Funds were tight, so it was a miracle Seamus had even been able to afford such a small funeral for his wife, Kate.

As the Brit watched, the preacher entered the sanctuary, moving slowly down the aisles towards the altar. The room instantly grew silent, the quiet murmuring ceasing. He said a few words of solace to the small crowd, then turned the ceremony to Seamus, who moved quietly and hesitantly up to the speaker's podium, glancing unsteadily down at the crumpled note cards he held in his hand.

"K-Kate was a beautiful, wonderful wife. She was always there fer me, whene'er I needed her. She was smar', and she was kind. But, she's gone too soon." Here, the small group of people nodded in agreement, she was only forty, "Bu' I guess the Lord needs her now, and she be with him, and she's healthy again, and tha's all I can hope for." The redhead broke down into tears as he brought his short speech to a close, quietly returning to his seat.

Around them, there was a small smattering of 'amen's', but there was still relative silence. Arthur laid his hand gently on the bigger man's shoulder in comfort as he sobbed quietly. The blonde couldn't comprehend how difficult it was to lose someone so close. They had been married over twenty years and had had a truly special relationship.

After a few moments of quiet remembrance before the pallbearers quietly went forward and picked up the casket, hoisting it onto their shoulders and walking slowly out to the waiting hearse. Silently, the group stood and followed slowly behind. For comfort, Arthur reached out to grab Francis' hand, but the Frenchman jerked it away angrily and walked faster ahead.

Arthur watched him sadly, angry that his lover was treating him this way. Once again, he shook of the angry thoughts (something he found himself doing more and more, lately), and catching up to Seamus, who was shuffling slowly near the back of the group.

"How're you doing, mate?" Arthur asked, clapping a hand on his taller friend's shoulder and sending him a reassuring smile.

Seamus smiled back weakly before slinging an arm good-naturedly over the Brit's shoulder and leaning heavily on him as if needing physical support as well as mental.

Together, the pair walked out of the Church, following the funeral procession to the nearby cemetery where Kate was put to rest.

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><p>Hours later, Arthur finally made it back home. Seamus had made him stay for the entire after-ceremony, though Francis had left hours before. As soon as he closed the door behind himself, Arthur leaned heavily upon it, throwing a tired arm over his eyes and releasing a groan.<p>

It was then in the quiet, lonely moment that he finally allowed a small tear to slip from his eye. Kate had been a wonderful woman. She had always treated Arthur as if he was her very own son, bringing him food and company whenever she had some to spare. Even when the economy had gone sour, she always found some to spare for Arthur who struggled even more to survive on his meager journalist salary.

After a few moments of silent tears, Arthur wiped of his eyes, sniffling once to clear his nose. For Francis' sake, he put on a look of indifference before walking to the small kitchen where he found Francis with his feet up on the table, a book in his hand, apparently reading intently.

"Hello, Francis, I'm home." He said quietly as he walked in.

To his annoyance, his lover didn't even look up from his book to dignify the Brit with a response.

Arthur huffed angrily and glared at the blue-eyed man for a moment before turning angrily on his heal and walking over to the bathroom. As he walked, he loosened his tie and took off his sports jacket. When he reached the small toilet, he quickly undressed down to his Union Jack boxers, leaving his tux in a small pile on the floor, too distraught to care.

He turned to face the mirror above the sink, taking in his disheveled blonde hair and angry, emerald eyes. To calm his red face, he splashed some cool water on it before carefully wiping it with a soft towel and dressing in a pair of slacks and button-up polo.

Without saying another word to Francis, he was walking through the flat and then out the door. Too angry to think, he simply stormed out angrily and left the building without even acknowledging the few neighbors who waved and smiled at him.

By the time he slowed his pace, he was nearly to his usual pub. As the familiar, worn, wooden sign that hung dejectedly over the door and waving slightly in the wind came into view, he allowed himself a small smile. Arthur pulled open the large door and allowed the familiar senses to wash over him. The sounds of a few men over in the corner, quietly playing chess, the clinks of glasses at the bar, and the smell of warm beer and peanuts.

A few of the regulars held up a hand in greeting as he approached the bar and he returned the gesture quietly. As he took a seat at a stool on the far end of the long, dark bar, the bartender put down his usual glass of whiskey with a smile. Arthur was such a regular, he didn't even have to order.

Arthur gratefully wrapped his hands around the small glass, taking a deep sip of it before looking up at the bartender and thanking him.

"Problems, mate?" the burly man behind the counter asked with a wry grin, polishing the stein glass he held in his hand and leaning against the cabinets behind himself and observing the man in front of him.

"Oh.. erm.. Girlfriend troubles…" he said vaguely. Try as he might, he still couldn't convince himself to come out to the world regarding his sexuality, he didn't think he could handle living so openly in a society where the subject was still so taboo.

The bartended smiled knowingly, he saw them all the time. Men who came in with women on their minds, believing they could find the answers to all of their problems hidden at the bottom of their glasses. For years, he had seen Arthur come in and attempt to do the same. In the end, he would always just be soggy and angry.

That night was no different. Arthur sat at the counter until the manager was forced to kick him out, downing drink after drink in the process. Luckily, he managed to make it home, stumbling and cursing the whole way. Once, he ran into a street pole and spent five minutes cursing it out for getting in his way before falling on his face. Slowly, he picked himself up and nearly crawled the rest of the way to his flat where Francis was sitting, waiting anxiously for his lover's arrival.

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><p><strong>AN: MORE ANGST. :I Angsty angsty Arthur… Funeral, angry boyfriend, light poles that keep getting in his way… what's a guy supposed to do? shot**

**Haha well, Arthur has a lot to put up with before he gets any real romancin' ;)**

**Thanks so much, again, for all the alerts/faves/reviews on the last chapter, they made me squeal and jump around in joy! :D**

**Thanks for reading and reviewing! :) **


	9. Chapter 9

**Hetalia isn't mine… :3**

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><p>Three pairs of eyes turned to face Alfred as he entered the small office. Quietly, he closed the door behind himself before moving to the single available chair in front of Braginski's desk after flashing a quick salute to the high-ranking officer.<p>

"Nice of you to finally join us, Jones." Braginski sneered, "Beilschmidt even got here before you."

Al frowned, pointedly ignoring the grinning albino named Gilbert to his right.

"I apologize, sir." He said flatly.

"Now that you're finally here, we can actually get started."

The general stood up from his seat, towering above the three men before him, pale eyes observing the three, hand-picked recruits.

"Wang, how is our surveillance going?" he asked, turning to the small Chinese man on the right.

"Very well, sir. I have achieved visual confirmation of the subject." The stoic man responded.

"Fantastic." Braginski replied with a sinister grin, as if he relished the whole situation.

"Beilschmidt," he asked, turning to the German on the other side of Alfred, "Have you gained the proper clearance, yet?"

"Totally, sir!" he said excitedly, flashing a thumbs up, "I received my verification badge yesterday!"

Because Gilbert did not believe in the Nazi ideals, he had come to the US Government when Hitler was coming to power and signed up as a potential Allie. Then, he had been in communication with a few people in the espionage department. They had decided he could play as a double agent, working within the German military.

Now, Gilbert had been working to achieve high-level clearance, high enough to gain access to the POW Camp nearby where Christopher was being held. By gaining those verification badges, he had secured his ability to enter at will. It was all part of the rescue plan.

The other man, Yao Wang, was in charge of the surveillance. He had just recently gotten the visual confirmation of the fact that Chris was, in fact, being held in that POW Camp and was still alive.

As for Alfred, he was in charge of the actual ground mission. In just a few days, they would be entering the Camp. From there, he would lead a few specially chosen soldiers into the building. By now, he knew the building by heart from poring over countless maps obtained from Gilbert and Yao's combined efforts. He knew exactly what he was going to have to do, and it was risky, but he was fairly confident in his abilities to get in and out- hopefully with Christopher and any others who needed a hero.

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><p>For the next three hours, the four men sat and discussed the upcoming mission, going over the plans again and again until each of them could repeat it in their sleep. Ivan drilled them over and over on the specifics, honing them in on the severity of their every action with the knowledge that even the smallest of details could be the difference between life and death.<p>

By the time Gilbert, Alfred, and Yao were finally dismissed, the camp was silent and dark. With a parting way, the three separated to go their own ways to their tents.

Even though the world around him was pitch black, Al easily found his way back to the darkened tent. As he entered, he listened closely to the sounds of his sleeping tent-mates. Smiling at the quiet sounds of their gentle snores, he walked over to his own sleeping back on the floor, positioned between Matt and Steve. He burrowed down deeply into the soft, warm fabric, enjoying the feeling of even his hard pillow beneath his head as exhaustion began to take over his body.

The past weeks had really taken a toll on him. Every day, he spent hours on the front-lines, trying his hardest to help force back the advances of the Germans as they attempted to regain their own land. At nights, he would spend exhausting hours going over the plans for the mission. As the date came closer and closer, the meetings became more intense, each of them beginning to stress over every minute detail.

Now, they were only a week away from the projected 'launch' date, and his emotions were running high. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't bring to confide in Matt and Steve, not wanting to put a burden on his two good friends. Besides them, he didn't know anyone else with whom to confide.

Well, there was one other person. The day after his private meeting with Ivan, he had written a letter to Arthur, confiding in him all of his fears for the mission at hand. Without even thinking twice, he had mailed it, desperate for a response of companionship.

Unfortunately, he had yet to receive a reply. Mail was taking longer to be delivered as the war became more and more intense. Mail was low on the list of necessary deliveries. Of course, food and ammunition were far more important, but the longer he went without a reply, the more difficult it was to deal with the reality of where he was.

So, for the time being, he was faced with dealing with it all alone. It was just like he was back home again. Back in his small apartment in New York with only a small goldfish to talk to.

As he lay there, he was finding it more and more difficult to fall asleep. His mind was racing with his fears of the weeks to come, fear for Chris, fear for his closest friends, fear for Arthur- the man he had never met, but needed so desperately in his time of great loneliness.

It was funny, how quickly he came to trust the man on the other side of the paper. In just one letter, he came to believe completely in Arthur's genuine care. In just one letter, he trusted Arthur more than anyone he had ever met. Well, besides Matthew. But, even Matt couldn't handle some of the things Al needed to tell. So, Arthur was really all he had, sometimes

The weeks passed in a blur of training and war, the time only broken by moments of sleep and shoveling tasteless food down his throat. After a while, even those melted together into an endless blur.

Two weeks later, it was the day of the mission.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This chapter was really short for how long it took me to write... It seems like every time I post, I'm apologizing for it being so late! :P <strong>

**But, really, this is LONG overdue, but I have REAL excuses this time! School started a few weeks ago, and I've had no time since then. Before that, I was busy with a new writing group I joined, and even before that I was on vacations, getting ready for school, and sleeping a lot! XD**

**Please forgive me for how late this is, but hopefully I can pick the pace back up!**

**Thanks once again for reading and reviewing! You make me so darn happy (I read every single comment!)! Thanks a bunch to all of you who have been patient with me with how darn busy I've been!  
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